"To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wondrous peril, What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl?' Ye maun ken, hinnies, that this Roland Cheyne, for as poor and auld as I sit in the chimney-neuk, was my forbear, and an awfu' man he was that dayin the fight, but specially after the Earl had fa'en, for he blamed himsell for the counsel he gave, to fight before Mar came up wi' Mearns, and Aberdeen, and Angus." Her voice rose and became more animated as she recited the warlike counsel of her ancestor— "Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane. "If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men. "My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then neer let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'" "Do you hear that, nephew?" said Oldbuck;—"you observe your Gaelic ancestors were not held in high repute formerly by the Lowland warriors." "I hear," said Hector, "a silly old woman sing a silly old song. I am surprised, sir, that you, who will not listen to Ossian's songs of Selma, can be pleased with such trash. I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse halfpenny ballad; I don't believe you could match it in any pedlar's pack in the country. I should be ashamed to think that the honour of the Highlands could be affected by such doggrel. "—And, tossing up his head, he snuffed the air indignantly. Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their voices; for, ceasing her song, she called out, "Come in, sirs, come in—good-will never halted at the door-stane." They entered, and found to their surprise Elspeth alone, sitting "ghastly on the hearth," like the personification of Old Age in the Hunter's song of the Owl,* "wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discoloured, torpid." * See Mrs. Grant on the Highland Superstitions, vol. ii. p. 260, for this fine translation from the Gaelic.